Hmm, I could certainly be interested in a Dark Souls RP, sure as sure.
Eisenhorn
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Not bad, about to go give someone a lift, yay driving. Yourself?
Should be a fun group, all things considered.
And made my post, and thoughts in this case ain't always his own.
"Ignore the cries, we know where the slaughter yet lies..."
"Slow us down, they will, ignore their cries..."
"You cannot suppress us forever, ignore their cries"
"Would you lot be silent for one Maker blessed day?"
Angstar had a habit of muttering responses to the voices in his head, especially when they decided to complain and rant about the fact he wasn't halting any prior courses of action and throwing himself head long into the next slaughter. He couldn't call them fights, most days, not when the enemy could not kill him fast enough. He wasn't proud of that, mind you, it was merely the state of the matter, and he glanced down at the notice that had reached his hands. He couldn't remember how, the how of many things oft eluded him around the times he had been fighting, but the daemons in his head had seemed to agree with at least the part about heading towards the thickest concentration of the Dark spawn seen in years, and of all the people still alive in the world, human wise, he had a very good handle on large concentrations of Darkspawn. Ostagar rang clearly in his memories of this, but he pushed that from his mind. He didn't need to remember how he became what he had, not so readily. He knew what his kind were called, so he left it at that when making introductions.
He arrived at the camp after several days quick march, something he still thanked his service in the Fereldan army for learning how to do properly, he knew rookies who just outright ran all day and were dead the next day, relatively speaking of course, because they didn't know how to move fast, constantly. That and he often went days without sleep or rest as it was, even if he did try to lay down he often couldn't sleep, mostly because of his unwelcome companions in his head, so he just kept marching until he found himself tired again, and could lay down for a blessed rest before awaking to reality again and marching on to his next destination. Sure enough, the Minanter river and its fortified camp came into view, and he was not left unchallanged for long, sentries approaching the forboding, solemnn looking warrior and demanding his name and purpose for approaching, clearly expecting a fight. "I am Ansgar Staudinger, of Fereldan. I come to answer the call by Lady d'Fleur, here, this explains it better than I." Upon offering the note he had acquired, the sentries seemed trained on what to do.
He was directed to a tent to the East of the camp, on a small hill, and he bid the men farewell, ignoring the urges by the demons. They always wanted the same thing, and were rather unimaginative about how they went about trying to get him to do it. Brute force, driven by the bloodshed of the real world. They had some strength when Ansgar was stuck in with the enemy, but otherwise, it was annoying at best. But, as he approached the tent, he had to wonder what sort would have answered such a call. The note called for heroes to stand against the Darkspawn, and he was anything but a hero. He did pull his armored hood down, no sense concealing himself from future allies. He made it clear, mentally, to the demons that anyone he fought with were not targets as well. He could easily control that much in a fight, and they cared little as long as they shed blood. But, the Reaver focused on the now as he opened the tent, entering and taking stock of his surroundings.
The woman in knights armor was likely Lady d'Fleur, going off the word that the brave few to have exchanged words with him about the subject knew. Looks were oft deceiving, so he gave her fair look little other thought. Next was the Tevinter Magister, they had a nasty habit of standing out. It was the air they held, even the decent ones still had it, and the demons particularly loved when mages were around of any sort. It rather grated on his nerves, but it was hardly their fault. Young looking rogue scrapper, from the words he caught approaching the tent, had quite the mouth on him. Last from inside the tent was a dwarf, good lot they tended to be, he looked like a prime example of their kind. Sturdy, well armored, and ready for a fight. He had no misgivings about that one. All these thoughts ran by in scant seconds, enough time for him to incline his head towards Lady d'Fleur and offer his greeting, the what to him would be explained upon request, although everyone likely noticed the unpleasant air that seemed to haunt him. "Lady d'Fleur, and associated allies of her, I am Ansgar Staudinger, of Fereldan, answering the call."
"Slow us down, they will, ignore their cries..."
"You cannot suppress us forever, ignore their cries"
"Would you lot be silent for one Maker blessed day?"
Angstar had a habit of muttering responses to the voices in his head, especially when they decided to complain and rant about the fact he wasn't halting any prior courses of action and throwing himself head long into the next slaughter. He couldn't call them fights, most days, not when the enemy could not kill him fast enough. He wasn't proud of that, mind you, it was merely the state of the matter, and he glanced down at the notice that had reached his hands. He couldn't remember how, the how of many things oft eluded him around the times he had been fighting, but the daemons in his head had seemed to agree with at least the part about heading towards the thickest concentration of the Dark spawn seen in years, and of all the people still alive in the world, human wise, he had a very good handle on large concentrations of Darkspawn. Ostagar rang clearly in his memories of this, but he pushed that from his mind. He didn't need to remember how he became what he had, not so readily. He knew what his kind were called, so he left it at that when making introductions.
He arrived at the camp after several days quick march, something he still thanked his service in the Fereldan army for learning how to do properly, he knew rookies who just outright ran all day and were dead the next day, relatively speaking of course, because they didn't know how to move fast, constantly. That and he often went days without sleep or rest as it was, even if he did try to lay down he often couldn't sleep, mostly because of his unwelcome companions in his head, so he just kept marching until he found himself tired again, and could lay down for a blessed rest before awaking to reality again and marching on to his next destination. Sure enough, the Minanter river and its fortified camp came into view, and he was not left unchallanged for long, sentries approaching the forboding, solemnn looking warrior and demanding his name and purpose for approaching, clearly expecting a fight. "I am Ansgar Staudinger, of Fereldan. I come to answer the call by Lady d'Fleur, here, this explains it better than I." Upon offering the note he had acquired, the sentries seemed trained on what to do.
He was directed to a tent to the East of the camp, on a small hill, and he bid the men farewell, ignoring the urges by the demons. They always wanted the same thing, and were rather unimaginative about how they went about trying to get him to do it. Brute force, driven by the bloodshed of the real world. They had some strength when Ansgar was stuck in with the enemy, but otherwise, it was annoying at best. But, as he approached the tent, he had to wonder what sort would have answered such a call. The note called for heroes to stand against the Darkspawn, and he was anything but a hero. He did pull his armored hood down, no sense concealing himself from future allies. He made it clear, mentally, to the demons that anyone he fought with were not targets as well. He could easily control that much in a fight, and they cared little as long as they shed blood. But, the Reaver focused on the now as he opened the tent, entering and taking stock of his surroundings.
The woman in knights armor was likely Lady d'Fleur, going off the word that the brave few to have exchanged words with him about the subject knew. Looks were oft deceiving, so he gave her fair look little other thought. Next was the Tevinter Magister, they had a nasty habit of standing out. It was the air they held, even the decent ones still had it, and the demons particularly loved when mages were around of any sort. It rather grated on his nerves, but it was hardly their fault. Young looking rogue scrapper, from the words he caught approaching the tent, had quite the mouth on him. Last from inside the tent was a dwarf, good lot they tended to be, he looked like a prime example of their kind. Sturdy, well armored, and ready for a fight. He had no misgivings about that one. All these thoughts ran by in scant seconds, enough time for him to incline his head towards Lady d'Fleur and offer his greeting, the what to him would be explained upon request, although everyone likely noticed the unpleasant air that seemed to haunt him. "Lady d'Fleur, and associated allies of her, I am Ansgar Staudinger, of Fereldan, answering the call."
<Snipped quote by Eisenhorn>
Goodmorning starshine!
Also @POOHEAD189 just in case you didn't know, Eloen isn't currently with the other group, she's off shooting for a bit.
Well good morning to you as well, and everyone else!
As a side note, once I have my IC post finished, anything in italics cant be heard by other people. Only stuff that Ansgar can hear in his head.
Man, I go to sleep and the Ic explodes with activity. Guess I'll be getting my post up then ASAP.
Hmm, me thinks I have a mage character of mine who would fit in rather nicely here, sure as sure.
Thankfully, Ansgar has no room to look down on people for, well, anything really. Especially for the sake of survival, eh?
Stukov was about to respond to the fact he was getting told to shut up in stereo when Sis decided to check up on the Boss, coming back with news that he had up and gone off to take care of... Emperor knows what? Well, shit, he couldn't help but decide, he had this bad feeling that things were not going to get much easier in the forseeable future. The voices agreed and urged him to take matters into his own hands right now, something he ignored the whisperings of. If this is what Smiles put up with on a regular basis, Emperor help them both, a psyker's lot was miserable at best. Of course it seemed things would be going as planned, meet with the glorious Sisters of Battle in their throne of power on the planet, even though they were not really beholden to them at all. Not as far as Stukov could be concerned, really, it didn't strike him as something that made sense. And his gut hadn't led him astray before, not when it mattered, so he trusted it in this matter too. Sisters rubbed him the wrong way, and that was that.
Of course dear Sis was intent on having a private conversation after all, and he rolled his eyes, not facing Sis when he did this, and jammed his hands into his pockets with a half smirk, looking at the others present. He had half a mind to believe she was probably just going to put a round through his skull and claim that he had lost his shit and tried to kill her for the Dark Gods or some such nonsense. Before walking out, he bid his farewells to the assembled group eating breakfast, he was used to not eating meals for long periods of time, so it wasn't going to bother him over much at all. "Guess that's my cue then. Enjoy your breakfast Smiles, Spades, Scarlet cunt. And not so much memory of a goldfish, SC, than I'm just liking you progressively less, so the nickname reflects that." With that, he turned and walked out past Sis, the power armor did seem to almost silhouette him as he walked past it, unconcerned by the prospect. Power armor didn't worry him, not really, it was the wearer that would worry him.
Once out of earshot of the group, Stukov made a very frank comment, no difference in tone but completely serious. "Lay hands on me again, and I won't restrain myself for Boss's sake. Besides, we ain't on loaned property right now, and you're girlfriend isn't waiting to put a round through my skull." The mistake of a tired armsman hardly warranted the response she had given, psyker or otherwise, and her toady pointing weapons at him didn't help the mood either. Should he have responded the way he did? Nope, not in the slightest, but he wasn't going to apologize for that now, and as spiteful as it was, he hoped it stained her clothes. Just to make things that much more inconvenient for her. It had been a long, hell, Emperor knows how long at this point, and the last thing he really needed was zealots getting up in his business. Yes, he was, by all accounts, an unsanctioned psyker in the employ of the Inquisition, something frowned upon at best. But he could honestly say to someone's face that it was not something he had gone seeking.
The voices wanted him to do something about Sis right now, before anyone came along to make complications of witnesses, but Stukov ignored them like he had before. The armsman knew a bad idea when it showed up under the ever so dangerous guise of a good idea, and considering the known tension between them? There wasn't getting away with it. Besides, he wasn't in the business of murdering Imperial servants, even over zealous ones, it didn't sit well in his mind. But he would defend himself, that wasn't a problem for him in that regard. Once arriving at the landing pad, he sat down on a cargo box outside the craft that would take them over to the Sister's throne palace, whatever the hell they called it, leaning back against the hull of the lander, not having removed his hands at all. "Alright Sis, let's get whatever is bothering you so bad off your chest, shall we? And I'll play nice with your Sisters, save you the embarrassment, long as they don't try to get twitchy and jump me. I will defend myself."
Of course dear Sis was intent on having a private conversation after all, and he rolled his eyes, not facing Sis when he did this, and jammed his hands into his pockets with a half smirk, looking at the others present. He had half a mind to believe she was probably just going to put a round through his skull and claim that he had lost his shit and tried to kill her for the Dark Gods or some such nonsense. Before walking out, he bid his farewells to the assembled group eating breakfast, he was used to not eating meals for long periods of time, so it wasn't going to bother him over much at all. "Guess that's my cue then. Enjoy your breakfast Smiles, Spades, Scarlet cunt. And not so much memory of a goldfish, SC, than I'm just liking you progressively less, so the nickname reflects that." With that, he turned and walked out past Sis, the power armor did seem to almost silhouette him as he walked past it, unconcerned by the prospect. Power armor didn't worry him, not really, it was the wearer that would worry him.
Once out of earshot of the group, Stukov made a very frank comment, no difference in tone but completely serious. "Lay hands on me again, and I won't restrain myself for Boss's sake. Besides, we ain't on loaned property right now, and you're girlfriend isn't waiting to put a round through my skull." The mistake of a tired armsman hardly warranted the response she had given, psyker or otherwise, and her toady pointing weapons at him didn't help the mood either. Should he have responded the way he did? Nope, not in the slightest, but he wasn't going to apologize for that now, and as spiteful as it was, he hoped it stained her clothes. Just to make things that much more inconvenient for her. It had been a long, hell, Emperor knows how long at this point, and the last thing he really needed was zealots getting up in his business. Yes, he was, by all accounts, an unsanctioned psyker in the employ of the Inquisition, something frowned upon at best. But he could honestly say to someone's face that it was not something he had gone seeking.
The voices wanted him to do something about Sis right now, before anyone came along to make complications of witnesses, but Stukov ignored them like he had before. The armsman knew a bad idea when it showed up under the ever so dangerous guise of a good idea, and considering the known tension between them? There wasn't getting away with it. Besides, he wasn't in the business of murdering Imperial servants, even over zealous ones, it didn't sit well in his mind. But he would defend himself, that wasn't a problem for him in that regard. Once arriving at the landing pad, he sat down on a cargo box outside the craft that would take them over to the Sister's throne palace, whatever the hell they called it, leaning back against the hull of the lander, not having removed his hands at all. "Alright Sis, let's get whatever is bothering you so bad off your chest, shall we? And I'll play nice with your Sisters, save you the embarrassment, long as they don't try to get twitchy and jump me. I will defend myself."
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